


it is cold amongst the stars

by mutablePsyche



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Angst, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Really only Dolorosa is relevant, This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-25
Updated: 2018-04-25
Packaged: 2019-04-27 23:28:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14436471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mutablePsyche/pseuds/mutablePsyche
Summary: sometimes, porrim aches when she thinks of them.





	it is cold amongst the stars

sometimes porrim aches when she looks at him, her beautiful boy filled with so much righteous indignation, so determined to better an undeserving world that doesn't give a damn about him beyond his color, despite _(or possibly because of; maybe a bit of both)_ it's unwillingness to change or even listen.  
she looks at her wiggler, spouting words beyond his years, ideas above his station, and empirical treason, her grub who hates being wrong and the nicknames she gives him and the injustice he sees ingrained in every facet of the world he lives in, and aches even as she stands behind his ideology and supports him through trials and tribulations because _god,_ he's going to change the world or die trying and break her heart in the process.  
++++++++++++  
sometimes porrim aches when she looks at her, her huntress girl straight out of the wild and into her little pack of a family, lioness-brave with the scars to prove it, ready to take on opponents twice her size, already assured of her victory.  
she looks at her, all rough and tumble, ready-set-go winner gets your heart with her wiggler boy who's not much of a wiggler anymore, is he? _(he'll always be a wiggler to her.)_ diamonds in her eyes, spades beneath her claws and hearts behind those sharp fangs as she follows alongside their heartbreak boy and writes him into infamy, and she doesn't need to look to the skies to see the stars crossed between them.  
++++++++  
sometimes porrim aches when she looks at him, her gangly boy with the power to raze cities to the ground nestled in along with the wits and humor and distrust that are all parts of his whole, crossed wires and overloaded circuits contributing to his form as much as flesh and bone.  
she looks at him, brutal intelligence and loyalty and love and so much more all hidden behind impassioned static universe eyes glued to her son _(the savior, preacher, heretical traitor)_ as he trails behind him, taking on the messes too big for anyone else to handle in a show of gratitude for the acceptance and love he's been gifted with free of charge _(her children never did play by the rules)_ , and what can she do but clean up after them and follow along on their way to beautiful disaster?  
++++++++  
sometimes porrim aches when she looks at it, the sky lit by the moons and the countless twinkling stars above, cold and unfeeling, and grasps the utter insignificance of herself and her children and the whole dammed planet in the wake of infinity, how the universe went on long before any of them were a whisper of slurry in a bucket, and how it will continue to go on long after their ends, paying no mind to the people screaming like dying stars, hoping their light will burn brightly enough, carry far enough, to be remembered before the vast expanse of the universe reclaims them for it's own.  
she looks at it, the deep, rich fabric of space enhanced by the glittering stardust shimmers sewn liberally throughout the night, feels it call to her innermost core, and holds her children a little tighter, resolving to make sure this light _lasts._  
++++++++  
sometimes porrim aches when she thinks about them, her children stolen from her and carried far away, out of her reach _(beyond death, the deepest wilderness, the empress' largest starship lightyears away)_ , inadvertently taking her heart with them and leaving her to fill the empty cavity in any way possible _(with the pan-addled attentions of a woman with no division between brainwashing and honest love)_ and by any means necessary.  
she thinks about them, her family and the choices they made, the laughter and love and tragedy, and even while she agonizes over every detail that paved their path to ruin, she manages to smile.  
_she has ached her entire life,_ porrim thinks as she falls from the ship into the biting sea below, the hole torn through her stomach from the blast of the gun gushing green that swirls in the water around her.  
she closes her eyes and slips into the blessedly numbing embrace of the stars.  
she aches no more.

**Author's Note:**

> this is what happens when i think of the people i love late at night.


End file.
